


now i'm learning what is true (that love will do what it does)

by darcyreid (bucketfulloffandom)



Category: Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Historical Innacuracies (Again), M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, brief/vague sex mention but nothing explicit, some other characters/ships are mentioned, they're homosexuals harold
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-13
Updated: 2017-07-13
Packaged: 2018-12-01 15:38:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11489436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bucketfulloffandom/pseuds/darcyreid
Summary: What Darcy Reid learns about love.Alternatively, a progression of Bill and Darcy's relationship.





	now i'm learning what is true (that love will do what it does)

**Author's Note:**

> this was unfinished in my docs for quite a while and i wasn't sure it was going to be finished until the other day my dad complained that i haven't been doing anything creative all summer—which is totally untrue as i've been drawing a lot, but it's all homosexual content that he'd also complain about. so then spite motivated me to make yet more homosexual content, hence this.
> 
> sometimes i think about billdarcy and cry
> 
> anyways, kudos+comments are greatly appreciated!! thanks i'm dying

1\. Not everyone is your enemy.

Jack Kelly walks out of the crowd of newsies in front of the lodging house to meet Davey Jacobs on the steps. Darcy watches as Jack says something to Davey, drawing a laugh from the latter, then takes his hand and presses it to his lips.

Darcy’s first reaction is bewilderment, followed closely by concern as he looks around to see if anyone else saw what just happened; to his surprise, the only other reaction he spots is Race jeering and waving his cigar in Jack and Davey’s direction with a grin on his face, obviously teasing. Jack makes a rude gesture in return, while Davey hides a smile behind his free hand.

“Darc,” Bill says softly, snapping his attention back to the boy sitting next to him. “You there?”

“Yeah,” Darcy blurts. “Yeah, I just-” He glances again at Jack—he's chatting away with Davey and another newsie he thinks is Specs—then back at Bill. “It's nothing.”

Bill, evidently having followed his gaze, raises an eyebrow. “Mister Kelly and his friend are close, aren't they?”

“Close is one word,” Darcy says. “I don't know how they have the guts to… you know.” He gestures towards the two, who have now resumed holding hands, while Specs continues to have an animated conversation with Jack.

“Well,” Bill begins, brow furrowing in thought, “it seems to me like the other newsboys don't really pay it much mind, do they?”

“I guess not.”

 

 

2\. Some people, however, still are.

Darcy has the home to himself, and he knows Bill is aware of that fact.

So when there's a knock at the door, he figures he knows what to expect. Stepping over the cat in the hallway and tugging at his shirt collar, he opens the door with a smile already growing on his face, only to be greeted by-

“Bill- oh my god,” Darcy gasps, almost recoiling.

Bill smiles apologetically, only to wince not a moment after. He gingerly wipes away the half-dried blood under his lip and says, “Good afternoon, Mister Reid.”

It takes a second for Darcy to recollect his brain, but when he does, he ushers Bill inside, asking, “What happened? Are you okay? God, what am I saying, of course you're not- who did this? Sit down, Jesus, wait just a second-”

Watching as Darcy flits around the kitchen, Bill sighs, “I'm not dying, Darc, you can relax.”

“No, I cannot,” Darcy mutters, returning to Bill’s side with a damp washcloth. “Look at you.” Bill hisses quietly when Darcy tries to wipe the red-brown blood from his lower lip and chin. “See?”

“It's just some bruises, I'll be fine,” Bill protests.

He flinches, though, when Darcy cups his jaw to examine his black eye better. Darcy’s mouth tightens.

“Who did this to you? I want to know,” he says. “I'll- I'll tell my father, he’ll make sure they’re punished-”

“They'll tell the police _why_ they did it, and your father won't be so willing to help us then,” Bill interrupts. Darcy’s eyes widen.

“You don't mean…”

Bill takes the washcloth from Darcy’s loose grip and starts to clean up his gory nosebleed himself. “I was taking a shortcut Albert suggested on the way here. Must have been some newsboys—none of Mister Kelly’s, or Spot Conlon’s, of course—from some other borough, I'm sure. Called me a queer and jumped me.” He looks at the cloth and grimaces. “You may have to throw this out.”

Darcy shakes his head, grabbing Bill’s wrists and scooting closer in his chair. “Did they know who you _are?_ ”

“They had to have. One of them said something about dirty queers getting their filthy hands all over the newspapers all the time,” Bill replied; there's a laugh in his tone, but his expression is anything but humorous. “Said it was always the rich boys with daddy issues.”

Something heavy settles in Darcy’s gut. “Bill, I…”

“It's fine,” Bill says quietly. “It wasn't your fault.”

“But- they must have known somehow, about us, word must have gone around.” Fear floods his body, cold in his veins. “Our fathers-”

“They don't know,” Bill reassures him. “They're not listening to the gossip the _newsies_ are spreading.” He scoffs. “The only thing my father listens to is the daily sales and distribution figures.”

Darcy wishes he could kiss him, kiss him until the bitter, fearful light in his eyes went away and he was smiling against Darcy’s mouth. But Darcy also knows his lip is split and his jaw is bruised, and the last thing he needs is more disturbance of either, and they can only kiss for so long anyways before they have to stop and the weight of the world falls back on their shoulders.

So instead, he finds Bill’s hands with his own and holds them tight, intertwines their fingers and squeezes. Bill squeezes back, but his grip is weaker than Darcy’s and his hands much less steady.

 

 

3\. Fights happen.

Darcy doesn't remember how it starts. All he knows is that he has a deadline fast-approaching, the weather is sticky and hot, his father snapped at him this morning and Bill _just won't cooperate._

And somehow, this leads to the two of them shouting at each other over the buzz of summer insects and the busy New York street below the open window, trading insults and slamming furniture. Darcy is vaguely thankful in the back of his mind for the fact that the house is empty so often nowadays.

“You're impossible,” Bill spits, his final words before he turns on his heel and storms off down the hall.

“The pot calls the kettle black!” Darcy yells after him. He's answered only by the slamming of a door.

 

4\. But so does reconciliation.

Darcy sits and stews at the kitchen table, takes his glasses off and rubs them with his sleeve, a nervous habit. Suddenly, the house feels too quiet, like that eerie silence that falls after a storm. He finds himself straining to hear any movement from the direction Bill had gone, and feels even worse when he hears nothing.

Marie, the household cat, slinks out from under the couch where she'd been hiding during all the ruckus and jumps up onto the table. Darcy lets her headbutt his chin, purring quietly, for a while, until his stewing comes to a head and he stands up abruptly. Marie skitters away on the tabletop with her tail flicking in discontent.

“Bill?” Darcy calls as he walks into the hall. “Bill, where are you, can we talk?”

“In here,” Bill calls back from behind Darcy’s closed bedroom door.

Darcy sighs, opens the door and walks in. “My room, really?” He asks, but there's no bite to it. Bill is sitting on his bed, staring adamantly at the opposite wall. “Bill…”

Bill doesn't move when Darcy sits down next to him, the bed squeaking under the added weight. Darcy gingerly slots his fingers between Bill’s and squeezes.

“I'm sorry I blew up at you,” he says without looking at the other. “I was tired and stressed and it just all came out of me at once. I’m sorry.”

There's a few seconds of heart-stopping silence, then Bill squeezes back and says, “I'm sorry too, Darc, I don't know what got into me.” He turns to look at Darcy, eyes gentle. Darcy feels like he might just melt.

“You know I could never really be angry with you,” he murmurs, leaning closer.

“Oh, no, don't start,” Bill snorts. He's blushing, though, a pretty rose color dusting his cheeks. “Darcyyyy.”

Darcy rests his chin on Bill’s shoulder and raises his eyebrows in a ridiculous puppy-faced expression. “I can't be mad at you, Bill, you know I can't,” he coos.

“I'm going to hit you and we’ll see if you can't be mad at me,” Bill laughs.

“You wouldn't,” Darcy gasps in faux astonishment.

“Indeed I would.” Bill raises his free hand threateningly, but Darcy stays right where he is. He stares up at Bill with a smug look on his face, because he knows Bill like the back of his hand, knows-

“Ow,” Darcy yelps. Rubbing his head, he complains, “That _hurt_ , Bill.”

“Please, I barely tapped you.” Bill grins, all mischief. Darcy glares.

“I hate you.”

“You love me.”

Darcy realizes, with a start, that he really does.

 

 

5\. Things don't always go perfectly.

They're kissing in an empty house, one thing leads to another, and Darcy finds himself hovering above a flushed and panting Bill on the living room couch, his tie long gone and shirt half-unbuttoned.

Bill is in a similar state of undress, and the way his hair is mussed makes something in Darcy’s lower region stir. Bill’s tongue pokes out between his teeth when he smiles, his chest still rising and falling heavily.

“Well?” he asks. An expectant eyebrow raise, a teasing prod with his knee. “You still there?”

“Yeah,” Darcy replies on an exhale. “Yeah, I just…”

Bill rolls his eyes, then takes it upon himself to finish unbuttoning Darcy’s shirt. He pushes it off of his shoulders best he can, wolf-whistling lowly. Darcy feels himself going bright red. “You're pretty.”

“Shut up,” Darcy mutters. “And it's not like you haven't seen me shirtless before.”

“Not from this angle,” Bill points out. “I like it.”

Darcy tries to think up some clever response, but his brain has long checked out. Bill leans up and kisses him again.

“Relax, Darc.” He smiles gently, affection mixed with a heavier, hungrier emotion in his gaze. “This isn't a test or something.”

“Yes, I know, I'm just nervous, I guess,” Darcy stammers. “Do you- my room- the bed-”

Bill wraps his fingers lightly around Darcy’s wrist. His touch is delicate, but electric; Darcy’s skin tingles. “I'd love that.”

Heart racing, Darcy gets up from the couch and watches Bill do the same. Somehow, despite his messy hair and flushed cheeks, Bill seems significantly less flustered than him, taking the lead as he makes his way out of the living room.

Darcy gathers his senses and starts to follow—“ _ow, fuck!_ ”—only for a sharp pain to erupt in his right foot as he stubs his toe hard on a table leg. Bill turns just in time to see him fall back onto the couch clutching his foot and grimacing.

“Did you-” Bill’s face scrunches up in a loud laugh when he realizes what happened. “Oh my god, Darc, did you really just- _Darcy_.”

Suddenly, Darcy decides he doesn't want to see Bill naked as badly as he did a few minutes ago. “Stop laughing at me, I'm in pain!”

“I'm sorry,” Bill says, but he's still very much laughing. “I just- we were about to engage in some very serious sodomy, and you _stubbed your toe on the coffee table_.”

“Like you've never done that,” Darcy retorts. It's useless, though. Bill is shaking his head and grinning; he's obviously already committed this moment to long-term memory.

Sodomy can wait for another day, Darcy reasons. Right now, for his future self’s sake, he's going to do his best to try to make Bill forget this particular incident ever happened.

 

 

6\. Sometimes, for a little bit, they do.

“My father says it's about time I start living on my own,” Bill says.

Darcy’s hand stills in the other’s hair. The hazy post-sex cloud enveloping them muffles the surprise he may have felt any other time—he just blinks and asks, “Already?”

Bill shrugs the best he can while lying down pressed against the side of Darcy’s body. “We've been of age for a while now, Darc. My father thinks it'll be a learning experience for me.”

“I think my father’s waiting until I get married to start hinting that I should leave,” Darcy snorts. “So I'll probably be stuck here for the rest of my life.”

Bill shifts, tucks his face into the junction of Darcy’s neck and shoulder. “You could come find a place with me,” he suggests quietly.

That makes Darcy stop and think. Somehow, the idea that they could live together never occurred to him, mostly because he never really considered that the two of them could stay together. Yet…

“I’d like that.” Darcy can feel Bill smile against his skin.

“Then we should see what can be done about it.”

Darcy feels like he could just about burst with the warm feelings filling his chest. “We should.”

 

 

7\. (But more often than not, they don't.)

They don't find a place together.

Bill gets an apartment not far from The Journal’s building, but Darcy can't seem to get out of the Reid family household. His sister comes back to visit, his mother starts to press about marriage, and his father starts to press about business—more than he already had been. Marie, the cat, tears his best suit.

They barely see each other for a time. The separation stirs up a fear Darcy didn't know he had until now—sometimes he has dreams that Bill vanishes from the city without a single goodbye, to head west and never come back.

Darcy is too overwhelmed, and Bill is always too busy, and they can never find the time to meet.

Darcy thinks the universe hates them.

 

 

8\. But in the end, it works out anyways.

It's been a while since the turn of the century.

Jack Kelly kisses Davey Jacobs, quick and fleeting so it's easy to miss, on the lodging house steps sometimes. Darcy shakes his head and smiles when Jack spots him and flashes him a thumbs up.

Katherine keeps getting front-page stories, and meets David’s sister Sarah. Darcy hears all about the latter occurrence, because Katherine is talkative when she's smitten and Darcy has always been there to listen to her.

Spot Conlon stops trying to be subtle when he visits Manhattan; he pulls Racetrack aside and makes sure everyone sees the way their hands fit together before they vanish into the lodging house together. Darcy isn't sure how he didn't notice sooner.

Bill says “I love you” for the first time—a real, proper “I love you”—on a blue-sky, white-cloud day in Central Park. Darcy rolls over in the green grass to look at him, feeling like he's about to cry.

He says “I love you too” right then, on that blue-sky, white-cloud, cool-breeze, perfect day. Then he says it again— _I love you_ —and again— _I love you so much_ —until Bill shuts him up with a kiss, a laugh, and a quiet _I love you more_.

They lie there for a while, hidden from the rest of the world by drooping trees and bushes that rustle softly with the wind, trading kisses and confessions for what seems like forever.

And Darcy couldn't be happier.

**Author's Note:**

> every time bill calls darcy "darc" a baby bird learns to fly


End file.
